An: I had a request for a SeptimusxFemShep oneshot. This is based off of the characterization found in 'Why Detective You Shouldn't Have'. Please consider this a stand-alone and not connected to that story in any way other than characterization.
I warn you now it is rated M for a reason. There is smut, with a sprinkling of plot here and there. Please forgive typos and grammatical errors.
I own nothing.
He'd never thought he'd see her again after Sha'ira. He'd been wasting away his time and money in a dank corner of Chora's den. Watching, but not truly seeing the scantily clad Asari as they shook on stage. They could not sway him from his heartache, but Shepard had. She'd stormed in there like a breath of fresh air and demanded he be the General he was.
The memory still made him chuckle sometimes.
Therefore, it took him by complete surprise when she'd come back from the dead and sent him a message. The Great Commander Shepard (in name only as he hadn't heard of her being reinstated to the Alliance yet), had bothered to check up on him. Just to see if he was alright.
It had been both pleasing and a little bit insulting to his pride. After all, he was no longer the love sick fool chasing after some blue asari tail. Though, he still remembered her fondly, and her talents, his care for Sha'ira had faded over time. As was true of so many things in life, time truly did heal many a wound.
She'd left him an open ended invitation to a quit little eatery were they could 'catch-up'. Thought Septimus was loathe to admit it, he'd been intrigued enough to go. Her memory was not enough to keep him from drawing in a breath when she smiled at the sight of him.
That same treacherous emotion that had bothered him so with Sha'ira flickered to life once more. Damn his sentimentality. The meal had progressed quickly, with her flat chatter, and his dual harmonic conversation. It had been, odd, but oddly wonderful. He had not realized how lonely he'd been.
Then, she'd caught him off guard by asking if he'd like to go back to his place. Septimus, until the day he died, would never know what possessed him to say yes.
She's watching him when they cross through the threshold. Her eyes don't seem to be judging him, but Septimus feels on edge for a reason he can't explain. He doesn't have much in the apartment. A life in the Turian military doesn't exactly lend one to hoarding knick-knacks. He didn't even decorate the damn place, if she doesn't like it, his assistant did that.
"What are you looking for, Shepard," he finally asks her after what feels like an eternity.
She smiles at him, a secretive sort of smile he's seen on a human painting once. "I'm not sure just yet," she tells him and he can see she's being as honest as she can be.
"If you're looking for conversation, I've got all the time in the world tonight."
"We've talked for hours already," she says casually.
"If you've come for help with something, I-"
"Don't need it. I've got all the people I need."
"Then, if you're looking for some stress relief..."He trails off, looking at her questioningly.
She pauses, but that smile is back, the one he doesn't know how to decipher.
"I can be as rough as you need," he snarls softly, "go as hard or as fast. I can-"
She stills him with a shake of her head to the negative; gently her fingers trace the markings along his mandible. Her strange human eyes looking at him with a sense of keen understanding, as her caress becomes even more loving.
"It's not about that," she says kindly, "we are both too accustomed to hard and fast." Her lips twist in a clandestine smile. "We are soldiers, and have had more than our fair share of roughness," her words allude to life and not to the coupling he was referring to.
"That's not what either of us need," she whispers her face moving close toward his mandibles until she presses a feather-light kiss where her fingers had been. Septimus shudders under the tenderness. "Neither of us wants this to be so crass. Being with you tonight, I've learned something about you. I know what you need," she continues as she draws back to look at him once more.
His heart has nearly tripled in pace, and his gullet feels dry as if he has been parched for a very long time. "What do I need?" He asks out of equal parts curiosity and want.
Her eyes soften and the endless pools of color threaten to drink him in. The battered general finds in them, the acceptance he's longed for and the passion he's only dared to dream about.
"You need to be touched as if you could be broken. Because the truth is we both have been to the breaking point before. Lost in duty, called upon when the odds were stacked against us. Never wanted for more than our good aim and ability to follow orders," her breath is hot and fanning the less armored parts of his neck.
His growl of arousal fizzles out into a whimper. She sweetly places kisses down his neck, her strange five-fingered hands tracing lightly at his hips. Septimus keens and bucks unconsciously.
"Sometimes," she says gently to the outer rim of his ear canal, "we need more than stress relief. Sometimes, we need to make love."
At her words, he is lost. His mandibles blindly moving forward to nuzzle the smooth human flesh they find. His hands clasped around her waist to draw her closer as her limp fringe gets tangled around one of his mandibles, but it doesn't seem to matter. All that matters is this moment with her, willing in his lap.
Everything he had needed Sha'ira to do, and she could not; Shepard could. Shepard could let him break under her touch. She could treat him as more than another client or a general of high standing in the Hierarchy. Shepard was willing to love him, if only for a night. He's needed this. He's needed someone to hold him in their arms and treasure him as if he matters.
Pliant limbs wrap around him, and she nearly hangs off of him like a limpet as he moves them down onto the floor. Breathy sounds escape them both as he settles more firmly against her. Each touch is innocent and explorative. Her eyes watch his face for reaction as she strokes his fringe. The sweet look of intimacy is on her face and it intoxicates him like nothing else.
When she whispers his name in such a tone of yearning, it is all he can do not to fall apart and tremble above her. Shepard kisses his plates, gently nipping at the exposed skin of his throat. Septimus growls lowly as the sensation washes over him.
Clothing is removed in no hurry, and their touches linger. Kisses; though he has never given them before he tries and she laughs at some or gasps at others. His tongue laves at every inch of skin he can come across. She tastes so different to him, but it is far from unpleasant. A touch of salt registers on his pallet and he groans into her neck. She is delicious and soft.
Everything he's ever dreamt about. Her eyes beg him to continue as her skillful hands wander his plates for more patches of exposed Turian skin. Septimus feels somewhat delirious at the sounds of her pleased and breathy moans. His talons have been blunted due to regulations on the Citadel to avoid incident and he is thankful for it as he scrapes his hands across her midsection. Her waist is wider than any Turian females, and Septimus finds the fact arousing.
He licks a path down her skin, relishing each gasp and call of his name. He greatly enjoys the way his name rolls off her lips like a litany or a prayer to the Spirits.
He finds himself nearly lost when her warm digits splay across his shifted plates. The two plates are the only thing separating her from his arousal and he rumbles pleasure when they caress him softly. Gently, as if seeking permission her eyes are on him. The blush decorating her cheeks and the scent of her all around him has his mind in a haze.
Her legs part and he notices they tremble slightly. He moves to the mounds of flesh on her chest, and licks at the dark pink nub he finds at the center of each. Septimus crawls his way back up her body slowly, as if he is paying worship to her.
"Septimus," she mewls and the sounds go straight to his arousal. "Do you… do you have-?"
His mandibles widen for a moment in confusion, and he's about to tell her that this will work because yes he has one of those. He nips at her neck gently and rubs himself against her. She moans long and low, and he positions himself to enter. She pulls away slightly, but does not get far with an able bodied Turian upon her.
"A condom," she states with her breaths coming out in short pants.
He rumbles in embarrassment and a touch of shame. He'd gotten so excited he'd nearly forgotten. The last thing he wants is to hurt Shepard. With a lingering lick over her dark pink nubs, he nods and removes himself from her with reluctance. He reaches his hand out and she clasps it firmly. He leads her toward his bedroom, modest enough but neat. He nuzzles her gently and pushes her toward the bed. He hurriedly searches through his night stand, and finds a single foil package. He casts her a side-ways glance to see her she is positioned comfortably on the bed. He notes with interest that her hand as dipped low to the apex between her thighs and she rubs herself gasping as she does so.
He rumbles his approval as her scent spikes in the air. Septimus wastes no time in rolling the condom over his erect phallus. Shepard looks at him with dazed eyes, which are open and wanting. With a low growl he crawls over her once more.
"Shepard," he warbles her name with his sub-harmonics saying all the emotions he cannot tell her just yet.
"Come to me lover," she says softly as she kisses him again.
Lover. As his translator gives him the word his harmonics pitch to adoration as well as desire.
He loses all the questions he was going to ask to ascertain if she was sure. Slowly he pushes forward and it is sweet torture to both of them. He worries that his anatomy is too far removed from that of a human male. But as he sets a slow tempo, her eyes close for a moment in pure bliss. She calls for him, tells him that he is wonderful and cared for.
Septimus traces her face with a clawed hand as gently as he can. He doesn't want to cause her any discomfort. She bumps her forehead to his in a loving gesture and his avian eyes close so she cannot see them glitter with emotions he has thought he'd forgotten how to feel.
She twists around him, pulling him in and her core is so hot that he's left feeling out of league. Shepard had always made him feel off balance. From demanding he act more a like a solider to coming back into his life like a breath of fresh air across the sands of Palaven. He pulls out slowly, savoring the way her body tries to draw him back in as they move in a primal rhythm. His mandibles flutter over her skin and he lavishes her skin with his tongue. He can tell by her moans that she likes his tongue on her.
Her legs draw up and around his waist. The added pressure makes him groan low in his throat. She's perfection and here in his arms, she's his. He rumbles deeply, basking in her and their embrace. He lets himself break just a little at the tender kisses she places on his mandibles. He tries in vain to keep himself in check.
Their coupling is soft, slow, and languid. Each motion is like a dance as she leads him further to the peaks of pleasure. His fringe tingles as her fingers scrape down it softly, adding only light pressure. It teases and heightens the love play even more.
He needs her like this.
He needs this.
With a cry hinging on a sob he buries his head in her neck, careful not to poke her with his fringe. She whispers such tender words that he nearly weeps with relief that someone can touch his heart again. He had thought it lost with the Consort, but now he knows Shepard has found it and she holds it in her arms with him.
Septimus warbles lowly, trying to catch his breath as the world around him implodes. A cascade of pleasure soars through his body until he is howling above her, jerking his hips into hers in an uncontrolled rhythm. Shepard murmurs in his ear, words of encouragement and care.
He watches her as the world comes back into focus, his limbs trembling. He leans down to nuzzle her softly in apology that he could wait no longer. His avian eyes narrow in determination as he touches her, noting her reactions. His talented three-fingered hands work her into a fevered pitch. She moans and gasps under him and he can feel the tiny spasms as her tight heat holds him fast.
He nearly glows with pride at her flushed cheeks and parted lips gasping for breath. He feels himself grow hard at the sight of her, so feminine and lovely. She smiles at him lightly and gives a naughty grin when she feels him thrust again.
Tomorrow she will be gone in a trail of stardust and bullets.
Tonight, however, she is his.
Tonight, they are lovers.